


Hold Me (Closer)

by runicmagitek



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24704551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runicmagitek/pseuds/runicmagitek
Summary: “You’re the only one who’s stayed.”Blinking his eyes open, Alphonse turned into her. “What do you mean?”Alphonse visits the Rockbells' graves with Winry, just like every previous year. This time is different, though.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Hold Me (Closer)

**Author's Note:**

> for GYWO's 2020 Yahtzee [image prompt](http://x.getyourwordsout.net/prompts/pp058.jpg)

The sun dipped into the horizon as Alphonse crested the hill. Golden light flooded the fields. A strong breeze danced in the grass and trees. The countryside ambiance calmed him despite the circumstances; no matter how long he spent in foreign cities or train compartments, it never erased the subtle lull he grew up with.

Any other time, he would have stood in the field and basked in the wind and setting sun. But there was a purpose to his trip and he refused to be late.

Past the sprawl of rich flora was a smattering of stones marking the ground. Once close enough, the distant shadows revealed letters engraved into each slab. Some were more meticulous in execution while others resembled his childhood scribbles for his mother. Fewer bore no engravings, as if the souls dwelling below were already forgotten upon burial. Alphonse frowned at the notion; what was a life worth living without those to remember you?

He almost missed it—the glimmer of blonde hair in the light ahead. The locks blended with the golden hue in the atmosphere, but the wind tousled the ponytail and she fussed with it to behave. Alphonse smiled. After a breath, he pressed on.

She knelt by two gravestones with her back to him. Fresh flowers flanked each one, more than most graves, yet not as much in previous years. Fewer people visited for one reason or another. Alphonse never bothered to ask. So long as she continued to visit, then so would he.

“Hey, Winry,” he said gently upon reaching her.

She perked up and spun to face him. Bright blue eyes locked onto him; the brilliant sun couldn’t change that lovely color.

“Al,” she said, albeit with a tremble.

He blinked and tented his brows. “I’m sorry if I’m late.”

“No, no. You’re not.” She sniffled and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m the one who’s early.” She shifted to center. The corners of her mouth tugged down. “By at least an hour.”

“You should’ve told me.” Alphonse sat back on his heels and swept his jacket tails aside. “I would’ve come sooner if I had known.”

A short-lived smile quirked on her lips. “That’s sweet of you, Al.” Her gaze fell from his. “I needed some time to myself, though. I’m sorry. I figured you’d understand.”

His eyes followed hers to the gravestones. After all they experienced, how could he _not_ understand?

“Of course,” he replied. “I, uh—” Alphonse lifted the bouquet of lilies and hyacinths he cradled in one arm. “—brought these. I would’ve brought flowers from Xing if I could, but I didn’t want to risk it with customs coming back.”

“Thanks, Al. That means a lot to me. Truly.”

He settled the flowers between the graves, careful not to disturb the other flowers or Winry. He glanced at her—a hollow expression stared at nothing. She swore off crying a lifetime ago, back when his shenanigans with his brother were the peak of her stress. Now? The faded pink circles highlighting her eyes said otherwise.

“I brought something for you, too,” he added.

Not a muscle in her being twitched. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You say that every year.”

“Yeah, and I mean it. And you keep ignoring me.”

Alphonse chuckled. “Wasn’t trying to do _that_ ; just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Al—”

“You deserve it, Winry. More than you’d ever admit.”

She drew in a deep, ragged breath and hung her head. Alphonse resisted the urge to pull her into his arms to soothe away whatever demons tormented her. Instead, he unlatched his messenger bag.

“Plus, I think you’ll like this one,” he added.

Not a peep from Winry. Though the moment glass clinked together, she gained an inch in height. “What is it?”

Carefully retrieving the items in question, Alphonse extracted two bottles. Vibrant Xingese labels branded the exterior, rippling from condensation. Alphonse extended one to Winry, who regarded it with wide eyes.

She gingerly accepted the bottle, yet continued to inspect it either out of disbelief or judgment. “Did you… bring these from Xing?”

“Yeah. They were selling them on the streets and I had to have a taste.” Alphonse chuckled lightly while digging through his bag for a bottle opener. “We don’t have anything like it here in Amestris, that’s for sure. I thought you’d—”

“Al, what the hell did you have to pay on customs for these? It’s a small fortune whenever I order special ore for work, but _alcohol_?”

He froze and mentally braced himself. “It was… well, I slipped them into my carry-on luggage and—”

“You _smuggled_ beer back?!”

Her voice echoed into the distant trees. At least the birds didn’t flee at the shrill. With the elusive bottle opener in hand, Alphonse dared to face Winry. Her features matched the incredulous and infuriated tone of her words, but there was a softness hiding behind it. What fierce rage she unleashed onto the fools she encountered in the past simmered, but hot water still burned. Instead of blind fury, Alphonse found the slivers of vexation and jadedness peeking through. All thanks to him surprising her with booze.

“Uh.” He cracked a nervous smile. “Actually, it’s not beer. Alcohol? Sure. It’s called… something I can’t remember in Xingese. It translates to _fizzy_ _juice_ —”

Winry huffed and groaned simultaneously. “You’re unbelievable.” She snatched the bottle opener out of his hand. “I see Ed’s been rubbing off on you.”

“He’s my brother,” Alphonse chuckled out. “If he hasn’t been a bad influence on me by now, then something’s wrong.”

“I’ll say.” Winry popped off the cap and passed the bottle opener back to him. She brought it to her lips, then paused. After an exhale, she raised her drink. “To Mom and Dad.”

Alphonse was halfway through opening his bottle when Winry toasted. Picking up the pace, he almost spilled the contents in the process. “To the Rockbells,” he added, eventually bringing his bottle to hers.

He swore her lips twitched. “Never forget.”

“Not even if we tried.”

The rims bumped, a distinct _clink_ joining the wind. Alphonse sat and watched as Winry took a swig of her drink; she wrinkled her face exactly as he had during his first taste. Then she smacked her lips and widened her eyes.

“So?” he asked, unable to hide his smirk.

“Alright, I’ll give it to you—this is good.” She indulged in another gulp, longer than before. “Yeah, _real_ good.”

“I’ll remember that the next time I’m in Xing—”

“ _Don_ _’t_ smuggle this or flowers or anything else back for me.”

“Okay, okay! Not to worry, Winry.”

The silence returned. It always did. What once brought discomfort to Alphonse now offered a sense of peace he had difficulty describing. Maybe most didn’t associate calmness with a graveyard during the anniversary of another’s lost loved ones, but Alphonse learned long ago he walked against the common flow of humanity.

“How long has it been?” she asked after what felt like a lifetime.

The question didn’t blindside him as much as the quiver in her words. He turned to Winry, sunlight nearly blinding him. Golden hues faded to pinks and purples in the sky while the sun winked behind the distant trees. Winry finished her drink at one point, yet she clung to the bottle’s neck. She perched folded arms upon the knees drawn to her chest. The solemn expression remained. It always did.

“What’s that?” How long since the death of her parents? How long had they been sitting there drinking? How long—

“Since we’ve been doing this.”

_Oh._ Not what he had in mind, after all.

“Hmm, let me think. It’s uh….” He counted on his free hand while staring at the clouds. “Fifteen years? Give or take?”

“That so?” Winry slumped further, her chin propped on her forearm. “Feels like we just started.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

More silence. Another bout of wind swept by and tousled their hair.

“Do you think it would be better if we stopped?” Winry asked, quiet and somber—enough to mask her intent.

“What do you mean?”

“Every year,” she continued with a huff, “I try to forget and move on. I’m an adult. I’ve got shit to do. And so does everyone else. Granny always said it would be easier over time, that it wouldn’t hit me like the day I found out.” She paused. Only then did Alphonse notice the sunlight glistening in her tears. “I come here to pay my respects, because I don’t want to forget them… but damn it, I wish I could forget enough to not be overwhelmed with this… this _pain_. It’s awful. I _hate_ it. I hate being so dumb that I can’t get over what happened. It’s like every time I remove the bandages, there’s still this gaping wound and no matter what I do, I can’t fix it. It won’t heal.” A beat, then, “ _I_ won’t heal.”

Placing the half-full bottle on the ground, Alphonse shifted his weight to fully face her. “Winry, it’s—”

“But everyone else is fine. Just _fine_. People stop visiting here. Not just on the day it happened, but any time. Maybe they forgot. Maybe they didn’t care. Or maybe—” Her voice hitched as she choked on a sob. “—maybe _they_ got over it. How? _How_ can they do that? Why is it that everything anyone’s told me about this stuff just _doesn_ _’t_ work for me? What is _wrong_ with me? I can work with automail in my sleep, but I’m… _so useless_ with this dumb shit—”

Fifteen years ago, he might have told her to stop, to not treat herself that way. But Alphonse was a child, then. They _all_ were. Children who were thrown into situations not meant for them. And yet they walked out alive. Not unscathed, however. Scars riddled the Rockbells and Elrics, both tangible and invisible. How could anyone offer insight to children who experienced more in a year than most adults did in their lifetime?

Thus Alphonse said nothing. He enveloped Winry—gently, almost cautious. Her form shuddered from the cascade of tears and when she eased into him, he tightened his hold and refused to let go.

She nestled into his neck, as if the small space was meant for her. A pronounced _thud_ plopped to the earth—no doubt her now forsaken bottle as she latched onto his jacket’s lapels. Tears fell and broken cries echoed in the air. All the while, the sun sank beneath the horizon and the wind brushed by.

Alphonse closed his eyes and rested an open hand on the back of her head. Each erratic breath and pulse pounded against him. He never flinched; he simply melted into her.

The persistent quakes living in Winry subsided. She sniffled and hiccupped, but the storm quieted. Yet she still spoke through tears when she reclaimed her voice. “You’re the only one who’s stayed.”

Blinking his eyes open, Alphonse turned into her. “What do you mean?”

Winry never lifted her gaze. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” she spoke into his neck. “People came and went until it was us. Even Ed couldn’t be bothered to make the annual trip.”

“It’s not exactly a cheap trip.”

“I know,” she groaned, the strained words marked with reluctance. “But you… _you_ _’ve_ made the effort to show up.”

Alphonse bit his tongue, fearing if he parted his lips, then the truth would unravel.

“That means a lot to me.” Winry dug her nails deeper into his jacket and hitched her breath. “But every time you come out, I know you’ve pried yourself away from your research and teachings—”

“And that can wait, Winry. Alkahestry isn’t going anywhere.”

“Yeah, well, neither are these graves.”

He released a breath, gave a tight squeeze, and stroked her hair. “You’re always worth the trip.”

“I don’t want you wasting your time on me.”

“Winry—”

“I appreciate it, Al. Year after year, you show up.” Frail laughter fell from her lips. She mustered the strength to lift her face and peek at him. “We spent last year joking around. You remember?”

He mirrored her nostalgic smile. “Yeah. And the year before you brought pastries and wine.”

“And before that, we stayed up until the sun rose. Just talking.”

He hummed and nodded into her. “We’ve had good times.” There were also bad ones—even worse than Winry’s breakdown, but he didn’t dare mention those. What was the point when they couldn’t change the past? “I guess that’s why I keep coming back.”

“For a good time on a death anniversary?”

“No, because you—”

His heart skipped and he sighed. So much for staying quiet.

“Hmm?” Winry’s eyelashes tickled his neck before she pulled away and faced him. Neither the tears nor twilight muted those brilliant blue eyes. “What’s wrong, Al?”

His hold loosened. Empty hands brushed past her shoulders and arms as he stared back. What words existed to express how his heart blossomed over the years?

“I….” He averted his gaze, albeit briefly. “I get lost in my research in Xing. I imagine it’s like how you stay up late working on your automail projects—”

“ _Hey_.” She jabbed his shoulder, but the idle breeze demonstrated better strength. “I _like_ my work.”

“I know you do. And so do I.” Unable to maintain eye contact, he stared at his lap. “I usually need someone to remind me to eat with how absorbed I get. For all the good I want to do in this world, I forget to do something good for myself. That’s why… I’ve gone out of my way to return here—when you’d need someone the most.”

“If it’s too much, Al, then you don’t have to—”

“But I _want_ to. That’s the _point_.” Releasing a trembling breath didn’t ease the anxiety living in his body. “Sometimes I feel I need to convince myself more to stick with my research than to buy a train ticket straight to you.”

He paused the catch his breath. The silence looming between them didn’t help. Alphonse squeezed his eyes shut.

“Every trip,” he said with a tight throat, “has been for you. Even if it’s for a day and I must turn back. I only ever wanted to make you happy, Winry. Back then, year after year, and even now.” He tried not to laugh at himself; the pitiful, nervous tone wasn’t going to win him any swooning ladies, let alone Winry. “If you’re happy, then it doesn’t matter what I do with my life, because that’s enough for me.”

More silence. Alphonse contemplated screaming just to feel something. He didn’t expect hands to ghost his face. By the time he hitched his breath, soft skin sank into his cheeks and lifted his head.

Tears flooded Winry’s eyes. The wind picked up and swept blonde hair across her features. He almost missed the hint of a smile behind billowing locks of gold.

“That’s it?” she asked, words dryer than before. “And here I thought you didn’t care.”

Alphonse blinked. “What? No, I—”

“Shhh.” She smoothed a thumb over his lips.

He froze. So did she.

“Fifteen years is a _long_ time to not mention any of this,” Winry said and he couldn’t tell if she was teasing or scolding him.

“It wasn’t about that,” he managed to say against her thumb.

To his dismay, she withdrew said thumb. “No?”

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Or burden you.”

“How could you? You’re the only one who bothered to stick around for something only I care about.” Her hands slowly fell from him. “I’d catch myself thinking about you. Not just how you were, but when you would visit again. And I knew you’d show up every year for this.” Her eyes flicked downwards and her head gradually followed. “I used to think that maybe it was more—with you, that is. But I always buried it. They were nice thoughts, you know? But no sense in dwelling on something that won’t—”

He scooped her falling face into his hands. Winry gasped lightly as he lifted her, as he bent closer, as he kissed away the tears flowing from her lovely eyes. Then he drew back enough to catch her wide gaze and ajar mouth.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” he murmured.

Winry coughed up mild amusement. “Really? That’s all you’re going to do? Be _sorry_? How much longer do I have to wait until—”

Gentle lips found a home between her tense brows. Alphonse drew a breath, the inhale like a dull knife skittering in his throat. He sank one hand on her neck as the other slid through her hair. She didn’t tense as he loosened the ties to her ponytail or tucked stubborn hair behind her ears or brushed his lips over her own. Winry’s eyelashes skimmed his cheeks and her shallow breaths washed over him. It wasn’t until she leaned into him that Alphonse closed his eyes and closed the distance between them.

Of all the waking moments spent daydreaming of her, it fractured into shards glistening in the twilight until each one winked out of existence. Time slowed and the atmosphere blurred. All that mattered was Winry and her subtle motions and her quiet coos and her hands tangling in his hair and her body crushing into his and her tears and her laughter and the promise of never needing to imagine a life together again.

Alphonse thought of their kiss since they left the graveyard hand-in-hand—the tender, yet fervent quality. It burned into him as he accepted her offer to crash at her place and left a brand come morning. Part of him was tempted to tear apart the train ticket back to Xing, but Winry’s smile told him otherwise.

And the next time he returned, only a month passed since they last saw each other—and he did it for her.


End file.
